


“What a mess you’ll make of me”

by Gefionne, Pangaea



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 17th Century, Art, Digital Art, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Character, Kissing, M/M, Male Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gefionne/pseuds/Gefionne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangaea/pseuds/Pangaea
Summary: drabble/art collab originally posted to tumblr, Crowley and a female-presenting Aziraphale sneak off to have a tryst at a fancy 17th century party





	“What a mess you’ll make of me”

**Author's Note:**

> originally a fic/art collab posted to tumblr: https://pangaeastarseed.tumblr.com/post/186473404571/tfw-youre-so-thirsty-you-start-a-drawing-at-10
> 
> Chapter written by Gefionne https://gefionne.tumblr.com/

It's the scent that caught his attention: lilies and clean linen and the sweetness of Heaven that no demon could miss. Crowley turned to find the source, but it was a head of white curls—not a powdered wig, but true hair—and a full bosom barely contained in a blue satin gown that greeted him. She was fanning her face, made pink by summer heat and laughter, but there was no mistaking her, even in this form: Aziraphale.

That day was the seventeenth of June, 1754, and Crowley had not seen the angel in over sixty years. Last time, Aziraphale had been in his male form, which was more common, but this female one suited, too. She still had a roundness at the middle and full cheeks, her dress an elaborate confection of high fashion. Crowley tipped his dark spectacles down to get a better look at her, and just then she cocked her head and caught his eye. A brilliant smile followed on a heels of her recognition. The blood in Crowley’s gut dropped lower. Aziraphale did make a lovely woman.

Excusing herself from her companions, she made her graceful away across the ballroom. “Crowley,” she said when she reached him, and dropped an elegant curtsey. Her voice was still deep, but decidedly feminine.

Crowley bowed. “Angel. You’re looking”—he raised his eyebrows—“well.”

Aziraphale appeared a bit sheepish. “Yes, there was a certain miracle to perform that required insinuating myself in a lady’s company. This was most suitable. Also…it’s nice.”

Crowley didn’t disagree. “And have you finished with your miracle?”

“I have.” She snapped her fan open again, almost coy. “And what brings you here?”

“The usual devilry,” he replied with an impassive glance around the room. He lowered his voice: “Care to step away for a moment?”

Aziraphale, if Crowley wasn’t mistaken, flushed a deeper pink. “I suppose I could.”

“Then come along,” said Crowley, offering his right arm. She slipped hers through it and allowed him to lead her out of the ballroom and into a shadowed hallway. He knew there was a retiring room just up the way, where they could be alone. He had every intention of exploring this particular form at his leisure.

It had started back in Rome in the fourth century, when both of them had imbibed a great deal at a provincial bacchanal and found themselves under the low branches of an olive tree. The right look exchanged between them and then they were in each other’s arms, messily kissing and pulling at their clothes. On the occasions that they’d met since then, they had somehow found a way end up just as naked and just as entwined. Crowley had the same designs on Aziraphale now, as soon as they were in private.

The retiring room was lit but had no lock on the door. Once they’d entered and he’d shut it behind them, Crowley touched the handle and made it immobile. Aziraphale, of course, saw the miracle for what it was and out came her fan. Crowley rounded on her and plucked it from her hand, tossing it away. He put one arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He ducked his head and kissed her neck. She let out a soft breath and embraced him.

“This really is a fine look for you, angel,” Crowley said in her ear, as he nibbled at the lobe.

“I daresay it is,” Aziraphale said. She moved one lovingly manicured hand around Crowley’s hip and between his legs. He was already hard. “It certainly has an effect on you.”

Crowley pressed into her. “That’s just you, however you look.”

She hummed, clearly pleased with the compliment, and rubbed his cock through his britches. Crowley took her pretty face between his palms and kissed her. She opened readily for him, lips and tongue playful and warm.

“Is it going to be a nightmare to get this gown off of you?” Crowley murmured against her mouth.

“Oh, it will be a miracle if we even can,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley huffed, but when he reached for it, the fabric gave way, the laces and buttons and whatever else kept the blasted thing in place releasing. “Miracle indeed,” he said.

It wasn’t difficult from there to ease the gown down over her ample chest, and Crowley pushed it insistently down until it pooled at her feet. She had on a shift beneath, but that was easily done away with, too. It mussed the coif of her hair, spurring Crowley to put his fingers into it: silky soft.

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “What a mess you’ll make of me.”

“Gladly, angel,” Crowley said as he slipped a hand into her underthings and touched the hot and wet place between her thighs. She made the most pleasing little sound as he pressed his middle finger into her. “Ready for me in so little time.”

She put her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers at his nape. “Are you really so surprised?”

Crowley groaned, gently stroking her to slick his fingers. “This is a sight easier than the last time. This form is…indulgent.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Indulge as much as you like.”

He backed her toward a wide chaise stacked high with satin pillows, pausing only to remove her underthings before laying her down onto it. She was stunning there, a feast for Crowley’s taking. He hurriedly did away with his coat and shirt while she teased the peaks of her breasts, peering up at him with unabashed sultriness.

Taking her by the knees, he guided her legs apart. “I want to taste you,” he told her, low.

“Oh,” she said, her voice alluringly breathy. “Yes.”

Crowley knelt beside the chaise. Aziraphale’s scent was now sharper, distinctly a woman’s arousal. Crowley brought himself closer, until he could kiss her most hidden places. She cried out as he used his tongue to pleasure her, her sweet taste all around him. Her hands were still at her breasts, but one came down to cup the back of Crowley’s head, encouraging him. He braced a hand on her full thigh and used the forefingers of the other to fill her. She clenched around him, rising to his touch and his mouth. Her fine silk stockings were still on, her toes curling to stretch them.

“Crowley,” she called to him. “Please. More.”

He withdrew his fingers, instead allowing his tongue to fork and grow, like a snake’s. He circled it first in quick, deliberate motions meant to put her over the edge, but then pushed it inside her. She writhed under him, hips lifting to demand exactly what she needed. She was utterly intoxicating like this, Crowley decided, and he could barely wait to be in her; his cock was straining against the flies of his britches.

He tongued her determinedly, until she was gasping. But it was without where she needed his touch. He exchanged tongue for fingers again, filling her and lapping at the places where she was most sensitive.

“There,” she said, strident. “There, Crowley!” She came with a long moan, her blue eyes pinched shut and pert mouth open.

Crowley worked her through it, until she was shaking and asking him to stop, saying it was too much. He planted slick kisses down her left thigh to the edge of her stocking, biting the lace lightly.

Aziraphale laughed. “Come here,” she said, beckoning. “I want to feel you.”

Crowley stood and wiped his damp lips and chin before crawling onto the chaise to join her. He lowered himself down over her to take a nipple into his mouth. The other breast filled his hand and then some. She gave a muted whine, bidding him enter her. Cleverly, she unfastened his flies and pushed his britches down over his buttocks. He hissed as they caught on his cock.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said.

“Gently, angel,” Crowley told her. “Gently.”

She was, easing his britches down until he was bare enough. She parted her legs to welcome him, and he lined himself up to slide inside. He closed his eyes, panting, as he sheathed himself fully. She held him around the back, nuzzling his shoulder.

“Go on,” she urged. “Take me.”

Crowley broke at that, bracing himself on his elbows and drawing his cock out before driving back in. Aziraphale said his name again, and he sped his pace. It was nothing short of ravishing her, he was sure, but she wanted it as much as he did. Sweat made their bodies slick, and the slap of skin on skin filled the retiring room.

“Wait, wait,” Aziraphale said after a time. “Can you…on your side…”

Shifting behind her, Crowley lifted her right leg to open her and push his cock back inside. He slid his hand beneath her shoulder, until he could hold her breast. “Like this?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied. “Perfect.”

He took her there, gripping her leg for leverage and her breast for pleasure. The angle was awkward, but he managed to kiss her; she went greedily into it, sucking his lower lip and surely tasting herself on his tongue.

It was perfect, just as she had said, from the slick of their lips to his cock inside her. Hea– He– Fuck, he missed his angel when they were apart. But it wasn’t the time to think of that—not when they were joined like this. Aziraphale was his in this moment.

With a last thrust, Crowley came into her, his body jerking with each shock of the climax. She reached to the back of his head and stroked his hair until he spiraled back down, wrapping his arms around her. “Angel,” he murmured as he drew in the scent of her hair.

“My dear,” said Aziraphale.

They lay together for a time, until Crowley softened and slipped free. He miracled a towel into being and carefully began to wipe the angel clean. He saw to himself after, and then the towel was gone.

“We should go,” Aziraphale told him. “I’ll be missed.”

Crowley didn’t let go of her right away, kissing the edge of her collarbone. “Don’t let it be sixty years again,” he found himself saying before he thought to stop. “I want you before then.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know. But don’t you want this, too?”

She turned, shifting until she faced him. “Would that I could have it every day.”

Crowley touched her cheek. “Ten years. In a decade I’ll find you again.”

“I may not be in this form the next time,” Aziraphale said.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Crowley. “But anytime you’d like to be, I’m game.”

She smiled sweetly. “Perhaps next time it should be you in the gown.”

Crowley very much liked the sound of that. “Anything you want, angel.”

Aziraphale kissed him, and Crowley held her close, until the time came for them to part again.


End file.
